


Is it Te Amo or Te Quiero?

by LaurytheLatrator



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Everyone is Badass, Excessive use of Spanish, F/M, Hiatus fic, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-20 00:29:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1490047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaurytheLatrator/pseuds/LaurytheLatrator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jake and Amy expected not to see each other for six months. They expected to have six months to sort out their feelings for each other. They expected to fret and pine in silence.</p>
<p>The FBI had other plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Te Quiero

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a product of my intense need for longer, plot driven, B99 fics. And also the amazing partnership of Peralta and Santiago which cannot be broken by romantic entanglements.
> 
> I haven't spoken spanish in a long time, so forgive me if it's terrible.

 

When Amy walked into Holt's office and saw the FBI agent sitting across from him, her heart stopped completely. She didn't breathe until Holt asked her to close the door. Her hand shook on the knob as she complied.

"Please, Santiago," Her Captain's calming voice said, "Take a seat."

"Captain, I'd prefer to stand." Amy replied, her leg already bouncing with nerves. He dipped his head.

"Very well." Holt gestured towards the man in the black suit. "You remember Special Agent Clark, of the FBI."

"Something happened with Peralta." Amy stated, trying to keep her face blank.

"No, not exactly." Agent Clark said, and Amy's body relaxed instantly knowing Jake was okay. "Peralta has managed to complete his initial task successfully." She noted the vague way he spoke, as if he feared they were being overheard. "However, he has proven to be… a difficult man to manage." Amy choked on a laugh.

"We were discussing means that his handlers could better…" Holt paused dramatically, "…Get a handle on him." Holt nodded at her with the tiniest hint of a smile. "I suggested we bring you into the conversation, as you have been partnered with Peralta longer than I have been his superior." Amy clasped her hands in front of herself as she looked down at the Agent.

"Don't expect him to take your orders. Peralta is a terrible secondary. He is going to do what his gut tells him regardless of what you want. You just have to keep him informed and pray his gut is right." With a small fond smile, she conceded, "It usually is."

"You say he's a terrible secondary," Agent Clark said, "But your Captain's records indicate he worked well under Detectives Boyle, Jeffords, Diaz, and yourself."

"Well yeah," Amy replied, slightly frustrated, "That's because we're his friends now. He trusts us and he's not about to go off half cocked if it's gonna get us in trouble. You aren't his friend, you don't have history, he isn't going to treat you the way he does us." Agent Clark leaned back in his chair, and she was made wary by the speculative gleam in his eyes as he watched her.

"Miss Santiago," He began, and Amy had to restrain herself from correcting him, "Since you seem to have experience working with Peralta, perhaps we can find an arrangement with your Captain and utilize you as well."

Amy looked back and forth from the Agent to Holt with wide eyes. As much as she had been jealous of the assignment at first, with distance she had realized how grueling that kind of deep cover could be. Amy was well on track careerwise, and risking her place in the Squad for an FBI case was not something she needed.

"Sir, I am not prepped for undercover work," She protested, "I have more than a full caseload right now, I… I can't quit the NYPD, I just can't." Holt held up a hand.

"As I understand it, there is no need for you to quit. You would not be going undercover, you would be taking Agent Clark's place as liaison, correct?" He directed the question at the Agent, who nodded. "You would take the same precautions he does as you meet with Peralta and receive updates on his progress and ferry him necessary information."

"In the event that the targets do discover you," Agent Clark added, "You could easily pass for someone innocuous like a prostitute or cleaning lady." Amy flushed with indignant anger.

"I'm sure what our FBI colleague means," Holt broke in smoothly, "Is that we have full confidence in yours and Peralta's acting abilities. You will undoubtedly have no problem keeping your meetings clandestine, you have the NYPD and the FBI's resources available."

Amy glanced at Agent Clark, and said, "Do you think I could discuss this with my Captain?" He looked back at her mildly and deliberately uncomprehending. "Alone?" She stressed. Holt gestured at the Agent, who reluctantly stood and walked out the door.

Amy immediately sat in front of his desk and bent over to mutter, "You planned this, didn't you, Sir." Holt leaned back in his seat, and Amy could recognize the small smirk as satisfaction.

"As much faith as I have in Jake," Holt said, "I have more in your partnership as a whole." Amy bit her lip. Hearing a compliment from the Captain still made her want to hyperventilate, even if she was trying not to be so obsessive about his approval. "The Iannucci's are extremely dangerous, and I don't want one of my best detectives taking them on without backup."

"Captain, this is his assignment." She said softly. "I don't want to take it away from him."

"And you won't be. Your job would be as a liaison only, an intermediary. Jake will still get all the danger and glory he craves."

On some level, Amy knew that was true, Jake did like this assignment because it was cool and nitty gritty. But, another part of her, the part that had been blinded by Teddy until one night in the parking lot, suspected that he leapt at the chance to get away from her. He'd given her a going away speech and _everything_. If she showed up in a capacity that required constant communication, she might be pushing him when he needed space.

"I don't know if this will work, Captain." Amy confessed.

"Confidentially," Holt said as he shifted closer, "Agent Clark is so disdainful of Peralta's reckless, thrill seeking behavior and improvisation, that he is considering pulling him and abandoning the case." Amy caught herself about to gasp. "You know as well as I do how much closing the Iannucci case means for Peralta, probably more now that he's spent a few weeks scoping out their organization first hand. I know you want to protect his feelings," The Captain gave her a look that felt far too knowing, "But even Peralta will be able to see the pragmatism in this arraignment."

Personally, Amy was skeptical about that, but she didn't contradict him. Instead, she nodded quietly.

"Good." Holt said, relaxing back into his seat. "You must work out the details with Agent Clark. If you find your current cases suffering you are welcome to lean on Boyle or Diaz." He paused, and Amy hesitated, almost turning to leave, thinking he might be finished. He added slowly, holding her gaze. "Above all, look out for your partner."

Amy took a deep breath and said, "I will. Thank you, sir."

She left the Captain's office with her back straight, eyes quickly finding the FBI Agent at the coffee maker, avoiding conversation with the oblivious Hitchcock. Amy knew most of the squad was watching her as she sat down at her desk, but she didn't acknowledge their curiosity. After a moment when everyone went back to work, Amy met Agent Clark's gaze. She gave a sharp nod, and didn't pay attention to where he disappeared to after that. She'd be hearing from him soon.

 

* * *

 

When Amy pushed open the door to the diner, her eyes alighted on the familiar leather jacket immediately. Her mouth went dry, and she swallowed back a hundred possible greetings. He was sitting with his back to her, in the far corner, underneath a dull light. She wouldn't be surprised if he tampered with the light himself to get the right atmosphere.

Amy squared her shoulders and walked over to his table. Maybe she was imagining the tensing of his shoulders as he heard her heels approach. Amy slid into the booth, laying her purse, the burner cell poking out just visibly enough. She tucked her skirt, too short for her usual tastes, under her legs, wasting time before she had to see his face.

"I sort of figured something was up when the text came in that we weren't meeting in one of Clark's favorite underground garages." He said, tone light and unremarkable.

Finally brave enough, Amy looked up. Why she expected him to look radically different after only a couple weeks, she didn't know. Jake was the same; same smoothly shaved jaw, same bright childlike eyes, same hair curling around his ears. No new scars or anything she could see. It was possible he wasn't sleeping as well, there was a hint of purple under his eyes, and his skin looked a little less healthy, but nothing terribly shocking.

"He came by the station." Amy told him, wishing for a cup of coffee like the one cradled in his hands. "Apparently you've been kind of a jackass to him, old school Peralta style." 

Jake nodded with a faux-contemplative frown. "You know, it is possible I haven't been on my best behavior." He was watching her carefully, and Amy realized he was guarded around her now. The jokes and sarcasm that had come easily to them before were now smokescreens to skirt around things said and unsaid. She had no idea what to do, how to break down the barrier, if she should, if she even could.

"I'm taking over as your handler." Amy said, deciding to stay professional for now.He must've come to the same conclusion, because while Amy could practically hear _'You could handle all of me any time'_ , Jake said nothing. Oddly disappointed, she rummaged through her bag as Jake stirred his coffee in her periphery. Finding it, Amy pushed the book across the table. He picked it up and squinted at the title.

"You know I'm not gonna learn Spanish, right?" Jake said, waving the phrase book at her.

"They're codes." She explained shortly. "We text from the burners one of the phrases so we know when and where to meet." Jake flipped through the pages, eyes scanning the handwritten blue pen in the margins.

"Let me guess," He said with a grin, "You came up with these all last night?" Amy rolled her eyes so she didn't have to confirm it.

"If anyone asks about the texts, you can say I'm your Spanish tutor or something." She went on, ignoring Jake's snort in response.

"Fortunately," He said brightly, "Most of the Iannucci's are kinda racist and there aren't that many Hispanics in their crew. No one's gonna be looking over my shoulder to wonder why I'm texting nonsense." There wasn't anything Amy could really say to that.

Jake sighed with a serious note that set her on edge. "I'm sorry you got roped into this. You got the boring end of the stick, while I'm out here getting drunk with a bunch of criminals." The way he described it didn't sound all that desirable.

Amy shrugged. "It's not that bad. I've got a lot of paperwork and official report writing to do, but you know I like that anyway." Jake smiled at that, ducking his head shyly.

She bit her lip. She shouldn't push. She shouldn't get into dangerous territory. But she needed to know if they could be okay. It was still possible to hand the position back to Clark if Jake wasn't cool with it. More than anything though, Amy wanted him to know that she wasn't heartless, that she did care, even if she couldn't articulate how much yet.

"Plus it beats not being in contact for six months, right?" She said, trying for levity and failing miserably. His face was blank as he stared down at his lukewarm coffee. "I mean, covert ops, shadowy meetings, secret codes, it's all really dope, and stuff."

His eyes flicked upward at her as she trailed off. Jake was nervous, she realized, which was the last thing the op needed. He had to be focused. Drawing in her own anxious breath, Amy began to clear the air.

“Listen, Jake, maybe we should talk about what happened in the parking lot.” She said, her eyes on the sugar dispenser between them.

“We don’t have to do that.” Jake replied with a desperate cheerfulness. “Nothing’s changed. I’m still on a crazy dangerous mission, you’re still with Teddy, we totally don’t need to talk about my stupid feelings thing.”

Amy didn’t know what to say. There were things she could’ve told him, like that it was because he was on a crazy dangerous mission that she’d been thinking about him and what he meant to her and what a future without him would be like. Or that she was thinking of not being with Teddy, because he didn’t want to go dancing, and he thought teddy bears were juvenile and their shared name annoyed him, and he never tried to read her secret lists. Or how she had replayed his words in her mind hundreds of times now, and even if she knew his confession by heart and despite the fact she had no idea how she felt about him, she really wanted to hear him say it again.

But Amy supposed she shouldn’t say anything until she knew for sure. He clearly wanted to forget about it for the time being. He was babbling on nervously.

“I jumped the gun with the whole no contact thing, obviously.” Jake said, shaking his head. “And that’s awkward. But now we’re working together, just like old times, except this is way more _Die Hard_ than anything we’ve done, so—”

“We aren’t really working this together.” Amy corrected him. “You’re in deep and I’m still at the station, so aside from our meet ups and communiqués, we can’t be seen together. We’re taking all the precautions the FBI did.” Jake nodded, but he looked put out about it. “Hey,” Amy said as she leaned closer, “I don’t want to blow this for you, okay? We have to be really careful.”

“Yeah, I gotcha.” He pulled out the flip phone from his pocket, the untraceable cell the FBI gave him. He passed it to her. “Gimme your number.” Amy entered her FBI issued phone number into his, under the contact name ’Spanish Hottie’. Jake laughed when she gave it back to him.

“What,” she said defensively, “learning a new language to impress a cute girl is totally plausible.”

“Yes, anything that happened in _10 Things I Hate About You_ is definitely true to real life.”

“I’m not flashing anybody for you.” Amy said sarcastically.

“We all know the overachiever ends up with the drop out in the end.” Jake said, and there were too any layers for that sentence to be a joke. Amy watched Jake’s face scrunch with embarrassment until she couldn’t take it and had to look away.

“I’ll text you in a week for an update,” Amy said, strictly business, “unless the FBI has new intel. Memorize the codes and hide the book.” Jake groaned, and Amy had to smile. “You were the one who wanted to play spy, now you’ve gotta follow through.”

“You’re gonna suck the fun out of this, aren’t you?” He said, but he sounded light and teasing, and it actually helped her relax. Jake took the book and shoved it in his pocket. “I’m going out with some of the guys tonight,” He said as he stood up, “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Good luck.” Amy said, but he was already turning and walking away. She settled his coffee bill and tried to ignore how brusque he’d been. It was just the messy situation, she told herself; a successful infiltration required his full focus. Nothing’s changed between them personally. 

She spent the rest of the night with the words ’romantic stylez’ on repeat in her mind as she tried to decide if she wants things to change.

 

* * *

 

 _From_ Contact 1:  
 _Holá señoritá, me llama Jake. Yo soy bueño.  
_ (Hello girl, my name is Jake. I am good.)

Amy shook her head at the message she got later that evening. It wasn't from her book, he'd clearly parroted what he retained from middle school Spanish class.

 _From_ Spanish Hottie:  
 _Tu Español es muy maló.  
_ (Your Spanish is very bad.)

 

* * *

 

“News to report,” Jake began their next meeting by looking up into space, “Luis is thinking about buying a dog, but he isn’t sure which is cooler, a Rottweiler, Doberman, or Pit Bull, and Alex is having marital problems, she doesn’t trust him, shocker, and there's a mysterious shipment coming in on the 3rd, but no one talks about it while I’m in the room.” He lowered his eyes to hers with a defiant sort of expression she wasn't used to being directed her way. “Do you think that’s what the FBI wants to hear?"

“Don’t get frustrated.” Amy said, leaning against the side of the tunnel, watching the skateboarders across the field. The park was a completely different place after dark. There weren’t many people around to observe them.

“I’m in the crew,” Jake said forcefully, trying to convince one or both of them, “But they still don’t trust me to do more than look menacing, which, I have to admit, is not really my forte.” He kicked at a rock on the ground, and Amy winced as it skittered away. “Why does Leo even want an ex-cop if he isn’t going to do anything fun?”

Amy took a deep breath. “Okay, it’s been a while since you were a rookie, so maybe you don’t—”

“Are you saying I’m old, Santiago?” Jake said with a gleam of mischief in his eye. “I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

“I’m saying,” she retorted sternly, “you don't remember what it’s like to have people look down on you and not trust you with things.”

“This isn’t like that. When Holt first became our CO he didn’t trust me to do stuff, he thought I was an idiot. This is different, Amy.” Jake shook his head, looking vaguely out over the park. “They’re suspicious. They know how long I’ve been a cop, and no matter how much I drop hints about how I hate authority and the paperwork stuff and following stupid rules they know I wouldn’t just... Stop being me.”

He doesn’t look at her, hasn’t been able to hold her gaze for more than a few seconds at a time. Jake was getting antsy and that’s dangerous. This is a part of her job, she reminded herself, talking him down.

“What have you told them about your time as a cop?” She asked seriously, and Jake was finally pulled out of his own head enough to see her.

“Clark said to keep it vague.” He replied, sounding a little confused.

Amy shook her head. “No. You wouldn’t become a criminal even if you were fired. That’s gonna become obvious the more you’re...” She tried to think of a way to say his goodness shines through without besmirching his acting abilities or getting too corny. There wasn’t a way, so she settled for, “...you.” Jake, predictably, looked annoyed. “But a Jake Peralta with a selective history might. We just have to find a way to tweak some stories to fit this new you.”

“Okay,” Jake said slowly, testing the idea out, “what are you thinking?”

“When have you hated the rules and regulations the most?” Amy asked.

“Whenever the Vulture claims jurisdiction over one of our cases.” He answered immediately, anger obviously still simmering under the surface.

“Perfect." She smiled widely, thinking this wouldn't be that hard after all. "Now think of a time when you've displayed any interest in crime." Jake shot her a skeptical smirk. "There's gotta be a time. Rosa and I talk about how every perp has a better apartment than us because apparently crime pays.”

It took him longer to answer that time. “On Halloween, when I made that bet with Holt to steal his medal. I was bragging about being an evil mastermind.” He was getting the point, his whole posture lightening.

"That could work." She agreed, contemplating. "But you shouldn't mention the squad. We don't want to make them think you're too close to us."

Jake pointed at her suddenly, exclaiming, "I bribed some guys in the holding cells to help me! Boom!" Amy shushed him quickly, and he rolled his eyes. "Come on, even the stoners have gone home. We're in the clear."

"We can't take chances, Jake." She chided him.

"You're in your civvies," He began determinedly, listing on his fingers, "You probably employed all the evasive driving maneuvers to get here, I put on a great performance as 'Drunk Jake' who had to be thrown into a cab by several Iannucci crew members, and I know for a fact I wasn't followed when I slipped out an hour later." He scuffed his sneakers in the dirt, but Jake looked at her when he went on, "Can't I just relax with the one friend I'm allowed to talk to?"

Amy uncrossed her arms, her whole body sagging. It was nearly too much to hear. She'd been so focused on the mission, she hadn't realized how Jake must feel about their meetings. It must be the only time he could drop the act and be himself. The problem was, she couldn't let him.

"Right now, I'm not your friend." Amy told him flatly. "I am your handler."

Jake stared at her for a long moment, waiting for her to reveal a tell, but she refused to break. This was her job, to protect him. It would be her fault if she let his vigilance lapse, if the Iannucci's caught him, if something bad went down.

They parted ways shortly after that, Jake still terse and sulking, Amy hating herself a little for making him so. All the possible ways the mission could fail were coming to her relentlessly, and no matter how hard she tried to focus on forming contingency plans, she was unable to push away the memory of Jake, real, alive, and disappointed in her.

 

* * *

  

 _From_ Spanish Hottie:  
 _Más vale maña que fuerza  
_ (Brain is better than brawn) 

 _From_ Contact 1:  
 _El loro viejo no aprende a hablar  
_ (You can't teach an old dog new tricks)

 

* * *

 

A couple weeks later they had their fifth meeting, but it was the first in daylight and in a public place. They met at the dog park in Union Square. It bustled with people and their pets, lots of noise, and everyone's attention was on the rabid game of fetch.

Amy was leaning against a tree, upwind, just close enough that her antihistamines were pulling their weight. She'd found a tutorial on YouTube and fixed her long hair to look like a bob. The pins and curls felt strange, but it was a good disguise, one that would easily differentiate Detective Santiago from the innocuous woman Jake was seeing. She wasn't sure why he'd asked for this meeting ahead of schedule, and the uncertainty made her anxious.

"Fancy meeting you here." His voice was low as he appeared at her elbow. She glanced his way with an easy smile that wasn't quite her own. For some reason, every time his profile remained the same it was a small relief.

"Are you a dog person?" She asked, honestly curious.

Jake shrugged. "I wanted a dog until I was 10. My mom had me dog-sit for a coworker and that bitch was mean." He paused, blinking out into the sun, before catching his mistake and adding, "The dog was a bitch, a literal bitch and a mean bitch, not the coworker, I'm sure she was a lovely lady." Amy snorted a soft laugh, causing Jake to turn and face her fully. The laugh caught in her throat.

"Oh god, what happened?" She asked, forgetting herself and raising her hand to cup his cheek. Thoughtlessly, she swiped over the purple and blue bruise with her thumb. Jake winced at her touch, jolting her back to clarity. Amy dropped her hand back to her side, clenching her stupid fingers so they couldn't do it again.

"Leo had some guys pushing molly at a club." Jake began in a murmur, leaning against the tree beside her, a smirk on his lips that didn't touch his voice. "Then these other guys were giving Leo's guys trouble, I think they might've been a rival gang, I dunno. Leo told me to get rid of them."

"By yourself?" Amy whispered indignantly.

Jake nodded, his eyes back on the dog park. "It was a test. Leo doesn't care about molly, it's nickels and dimes. For all I know the other guys were on Leo's payroll too." Jake sighed "He needed to see that I was loyal. I did what he said and I got my ass kicked."

"When was this?" She asked, getting suspicious. She was right to be, as Jake shifted uneasily at her probing.

"Last night." He answered, in a tone that knew what was coming. Amy swallowed down the anger. She couldn't yell at him in public, that would make people notice them. They were supposed to look like two strangers chatting, maybe getting their flirt on. So she laughed instead, something loud from her belly.

"That's hilarious," She said with a saccharine smile, "Because you should've texted me immediately with a sitrep." Jake rolled his eyes, and Amy wanted to slug him for not playing along.

"I'm telling you everything now, okay?" He retorted, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Here's the deal," Jake said, taking a deep breath and holding her gaze, "After Leo picked me up off the floor, shit got real. He said he had a job for me, just me. He wants police records, like, a lot of them. On which drug runners are under surveillance, CIs in his territory, all the open investigations against members of his crew, it's, it's—"

"Okay, okay…" Amy said vaguely, halfheartedly trying to placate him while her thoughts are already racing.

"Some of his territory is in the Nine-Nine." Jake went on in a strained whisper. "I'd have to compromise _our_ investigations."

“Don’t worry. We can swing this.” Amy replied.

“I can't hurt them.” Jake said, so firmly as to make it an immutable fact. “I don’t care what the FBI says, I won't make the squad look bad.”

"I promise, Jake, we can work something out." Amy assured him, laying a steady hand on his arm. He looked down at it in surprise. "The squad won't suffer and you'll come out okay with Leo. Trust me." His shoulders sagged and he looked at her with bright wide eyes. There was a desperation to him that caught her off guard.

“How is everyone?” He asked quietly. “You gotta fill me in, I’m going nuts here.” It was the first time he’d asked after their friends. Amy realized then what it had been costing him to hold back. She swallowed thickly, and started to ramble about everything she could think of.

Gina was taking his absence the worst. She thought he’d simply been fired and was ignoring everyone out of pettiness. At first she’d been partying more and making bad decisions (one in particular had the whole squad shaking their head). It had actually been Rosa who knocked some sense into her. The two had been closer lately, becoming unlikely companions in their off days.

Terry had begun leading his own investigations as of late. He claimed it was the natural progression of being reinstated, but everyone had to pick up some slack without one of their best detectives. Amy liked working with Terry, as did Boyle. They were very efficient.

Captain Holt had arraigned for a rookie detective to work with the Squad. The guy was very green, and Holt was spending a lot of time trying to get him up to shape. No one had told the rookie that his position was temporary.

“And what about you?” Jake asked when she thought she’d run out of stories. He somehow sounded more wistful than he had at the beginning. “How’re you... I dunno.” Jake shook his head briefly before smiling at her ruefully. “How’s Teddy?”

Amy pursed her lips, and lowered her gaze to her flats. She wished he hadn’t asked that one teensy, infinitely complicated question. Clearing her throat, she took the plunge.

“I wouldn’t know. We haven’t talked for over two weeks.” Jakes face shifted at that, and even though she was watching him closely she couldn't discern what those minute expressions meant. “I told him I had a lot going on and I needed some time to sort things out.” Amy crossed her arms, feeling terribly vulnerable. “I said he shouldn’t feel bad about seeing other people and he didn't fight me on it.”

“That’s...” Jake began, but he cut himself off. “I’m sorry, Amy, that sucks.” It was the first time he’d called her by name since he’d left, and she forgave him for the slip. She'd missed hearing him say it, soft warmth in the simple syllable. 

“Thank you.” She said softly. He mirrored her uncertain attempt at a smile. His eyes were earnest, even if his jaw was tight. Amy felt like she should explain, make it clear that she hadn’t left Teddy because of him, but she honestly couldn't. Lying to a boyfriend about an undercover op was one thing.

The way her heart had contorted itself into a veritable Gordian Knot was something else entirely.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the moment, I have enough material for two parts, but as someone pointed out in the comments, it feels like there could be more. I have the end written, but there is space for more in the middle. I welcome any suggestions for plot points, things to make being undercover more exciting.


	2. Te Amo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was silly of her to worry, she told herself. She trusted Jake immensely, with her life, so she had to trust him with his own.

 

 _From_ Contact 1:  
 _En el peligro se conoce el amigo  
_ (A friend in need is a friend indeed)

 _From_ Spanish Hottie:  
 _La necesidad agudiza el ingenio  
_ (Necessity is the mother of invention)

 

* * *

 

Amy was first at the rendezvous spot this time, sipping her own heavily sugared drink. The bodega couldn't make a pot of coffee without burning it, but at least it was bustling with activity and noise. It made a good smokescreen, quite literally when the fry cook's bacon went up in flames.

Jake was running late, which she tried desperately not to speculate on. Her hands kept trying to fidget with the faux bob or with the hem of her uncharacteristically loud print skirt. It may have been noticeable, but at least it made her look as far from a cop as possible.

It was silly of her to worry, she told herself. She trusted Jake immensely, with her life, so she had to trust him with his own. It was incredibly hard though.

Her heart leapt when she heard the bell above the door ring. A relieved sigh escaped when she saw it was Jake, but Amy didn't relax. He had his blue hoodie up over his head, something he never did unless it was raining. His shoulders were hunched in on himself under the leather jacket. Amy bit her lip as his sneakers squeaked their way over to her table. 

"¡Hola!" His voice boomed out loud as Jake fell into the chair. "¿Cómo estás?" He asked with a wide grin. Amy didn't answer. Something was wrong. His whole body language was off, his grin too superficial to be at ease.

"El libro." Amy demanded, and she was glad that he had the foresight to stuff the small well-thumbed Spanish phrasebook in his pocket. Jake flipped it open on the table between them. Grabbing it, Amy found the phrase she was looking for, pointing to it but not saying it.

 _¿Hay moros en la costa?  
_ (Is the coast clear?)

Jake grimaced. "Mira." He flicked his eyes out the window briefly. Nonchalant, Amy lifted her coffee to her mouth as she glanced blankly in the indicated direction. Sure enough, there was a nondescript car with tinted windows on the far corner. It was idling, with any number of the Iannucci crew inside.

"Did they follow you?" Amy asked in a whisper, her lips still hidden by the coffee cup.

"Sí." He answered. Then Jake placed his elbow on the table and leaned his cheek on his hand, effectively obscuring it from the outside. He did this with a soppy infatuated expression, but when he spoke he was far more serious.

"A couple nights ago we were at a bar. I've got this trick for pretending to drink more than I do where I go to the urinal and…" He trailed off after noticing her scrunched up disgusted pout. "Anyway, Alex was hammered and he nabbed my phone from my pocket when I got up to go. When I got back the whole gang was going through it. They were laughing at me for having a shitty sex-life and when they got to the texts in Spanish I had to run with it. I used your ridiculous 'trying to learn Spanish to impress teacher' idea." Well, Amy took a moment to gloat inwardly, it couldn't be that ridiculous if he'd remembered it.

Unable to keep sipping her coffee indefinitely, Amy asked in Spanish. "¿Por qué…?" She couldn't finish the question, he wouldn't understand her, so she gave a subtle gesture of her head to indicate the car.

"I think they're just trying to find fodder to make fun of me." Jake replied, cautiously hopeful. "But it's totally possible they didn't buy my excuse." He squinted at her as if something had just occurred to him. "Hey, do you have a name?" Her eyebrows raised minutely, and Jake could apparently read her question from just that gesture. "No, obviously not your name. This," With the hand farthest from the window he made a sweeping gesture over her body, "Character, does she have a name? I kept calling her that Spanish chick, and it felt really weird."

"I don't need a name," Amy murmured, her face pointed down, "Because I'm not undercover." 

Jake sighed. "I hate to break it to you, but those guys sitting out there mean you are now." Her eyes cut upward to see his honestly contrite expression. The air left her lungs with a whoosh, and Amy nodded. It hadn't been what she signed up for, and it made everything way more complicated, but she was determined to see this through.

Amy picked up the phrase book, sifting aimlessly through the pages. Carefully, her fingers dipped into her pocket and withdrew the small USB. She nestled the drive into the book. Jake watched her movements, for all appearances bored.

"Is that the intel I can give Leo?" He asked simply.

Amy lifted the book higher, angling it so it blocked most of her face. "I worked it out with Holt and Clark. It's a lot of fake info, detectives playing CI's, prop warehouses with drugs, and open cases that are already in court. It's enough to impress them, but it won't jeopardize anything. Besides, you've been out for almost three months, it makes sense that you wouldn't have up to date info for them."

"You're sure?" Jake said. Amy nodded, and was about to say more when he sat up quickly, childlike energy returning. "Ooh, what about America?" He suggested apropos of nothing. "You know, for a bogus name." The words _America needs me_ forced their way into her mind. Like that night, her throat seemed to close up. Amy shook her head, averting her eyes. "What, too close to the real thing?"

"Actually," She murmured shyly, "It is the real thing." There was a stunned beat of silence. Heart fluttering, Amy chanced a look up. Jake was staring at her, and when he knew she was watching he mouthed, 'America Santiago.' 

His expression of amazement was so sweetly painful, she couldn't look at it for too long. Glancing up over his head at just the right time, the blush drained from her cheeks. She ducked her head and lay the book on the table, the USB out of sight.

"El niño," She enunciated slowly, holding Jake's gaze, "Entra," His eyes widened, catching on, "La bodega."

"El niño entra la bodega." Jake repeated, his accent outrageously bad. Amy winced, at the butchering of the language but mostly to cover any possible relieved smile that he got it, he knew what was going on, and she didn't have to draw attention to the man loitering by the register.

They went on like that for nearly an hour. She would read him something in Spanish and he would repeat it badly, over and over again as she pretended to tutor him. Every so often Jake would try something flirty, like laying his hand over hers or nudging their feet together. Amy rebuffed him every time, sending a soft look his way, trying to let him know she was playing a part. The crew wanted fodder to make fun of him, and that's exactly what she'd give them. Better they be under the impression that Jake was a bumbling fool with women, than the reality, that he was smarter than they believed.

They parted ways, exceedingly awkward for effect. Jake told her in broken Spanish that he would see her next week. He left first, pushing the hoodie back up over his head. Their friend, who had meandered around the shop the entire time, didn't leave with him, so Amy knew she would have to enact one of her contingency plans. Good thing she had twenty.

Amy rode the subway all the way into Manhattan and up to Columbia University. Her shadow followed, discrete enough that a civilian wouldn't have noticed. At Columbia she used the alumni ID card to get in the building, knowing he couldn't continue tailing her inside. The ladies' bathroom gave her enough privacy to call Captain Holt and inform him that she wouldn't be in to work. Then she called Agent Clark and informed him of the situation and the successful drop.

After whiling away a couple hours in the library, Amy slipped out one of the side doors. Unsure if the man was still pursuing her, she caught a bus to the East Side. It was dark out as she meandered through Spanish Harlem, occasionally ducking into shops. No one payed any attention to her there. For once she didn't give off the unmistakeable sense of _cop_.

If she could've found one in that neighborhood, Amy would've gotten a cab. As it was, she retreated to the subway to take her back to Brooklyn. Reasonably certain her tail was long gone, Amy relaxed into the plastic seating as she barreled through the tunnels. She took out her burner phone and wondered what to text Jake, but there was no service, so she put that thought, like many others, on hold.

 

* * *

 

 _From_ Spanish Hottie:  
 _Él que tiene boca se equivoca  
_ (We all make mistakes)

 _From_ Contact 1:  
 _Nunca llueve a gusto de todos  
_ (You can't please everyone)

 

* * *

 

His text had been ominous. 

Amy leaned against the cube on Astor Place, cigarette firmly between her lips. Foot traffic bustled around her, and this was one of the moments that Manhattan's constant chaos was comforting. She knew people's eyes were passing over her, but that's all it was. There was only one person who needed to notice her, and he could find her no matter what.

"¡Que pasa, chica!" The shout made her turn, a half formed smile on her face just knowing Jake was nearby. He was swaggering down the street towards her. The cigarette fell from her fingers as she took in his wild eyes, tight exaggerated grin, and the outlines of his fists in his pockets. She watched him warily as he got closer and closer.

"Hit me." Jake whispered before grabbing her face in both hands and kissing her harshly.

He was gripping her jaw tight as his other hand clawed into her hair. His lips seemed to squirm against hers, furious, but uneasy. For one moment, Amy swayed into it, accepting the bruising force without resistance. Grappling for something to hold, her hands snaked up his chest and wrapped around the strings of his hoodie. They were taught, grounding.

The thing was, Amy had thought about this moment. After she’d thought obsessively every night about Jake’s feelings, the next logical step was trying to figure out what she felt. That was easier said than done, but Amy was nothing if not thorough. She considered every angle, everything she knew about Jake, every time they’d hung out without work, everything she’d thought she wanted in a boyfriend. It was a long arduous process, and every once in a while Amy allowed herself to muse about nicer things. Kissing Jake was one of the nicest things.

So she really wasn’t thinking when she pushed into him, tilting his head back, wrapping her lips around his. Jake panted into her mouth, taking as well as he’d given. They struggled against each other for one suspended breath, hands still curled desperately into each other, their lips softening before breaking apart. Amy’s eyes flew open and she stared at Jake, only inches away. He was watching her, awed, but also tinged with fear.

The world around them came crushing back, and Amy heaved him away from her with all her might. She got in three slaps, two more than she’d expected to land, before his arms came up to shield his face. Every Spanish obscenity she knew flew off her tongue as she pummeled him. Between her own shouts she could hear Jake crying out in protest, with choice phrases like “Latino bitch” and “crazy Puerto Rican”. She knew it wasn’t meant for her, it was for their unseen audience. Jake was being clever, using their prejudice to align himself with them by making her the outsider. It still hurt to hear from his voice.

She stalked away from him after unleashing as much fury as she was comfortable with. As she passed a car, she heard the murmurs within the car, a low voice calling her a “firecracker”. Amy threw him a glare, looking into the amused face of Leo Iannucci himself. She kept walking, her step never faltering despite the swoop in her stomach. Amy made it to the subway stop, knowing she hadn’t been followed, before she let out a long breath.

Why did he have to do it like that, Amy mused as she forcefully speared her dinner that night. Couldn’t there’ve been another way to throw the Iannuccis off their scent? After all they’d been through, it riled her that this moment that should've been special between them had just been a spectacle for someone else’s benefit.

Because Amy hadn't realize that she had this idea of a perfect first kiss with Jake before the possibility had been stolen. Half formed wisps flitted through her mind, of her holding his cheek in her hand, looking into soft warm eyes, leaning in until their lips just brushed, glancing off each other until they both sighed and came together fully.

Not that the frenzied clash of earlier had been disappointing. It was still Jake, still his lips and his hands on her, still his breath filling her lungs. But she’d wanted to be sure, the first time they kissed, that it was because they wanted to. She didn’t want to have this niggling doubt that he only meant the kiss the way he meant the slurs he'd thrown her way.

When she sent the text that night she was close to crying. 

 _From_ Spanish Hottie:  
 _Me vuelves loca  
_ (You make me crazy)

It wasn't in the phrasebook she gave him, she couldn't chance inadvertently misleading him, so she ended up waiting far longer for his reply. He had to be looking up a translation. When his text came in, it was a phrase he must've found in the book, but it was obvious he wasn't using it as code.

 _From_ Contact 1:  
 _Ojos que no ven, corazón que no siente?_

As an idiom, it could match the English, "Out of sight, out of mind." But the second clause literally translated to, "Heart that does not feel." Jake had posed it as a question.

The few simple words on the cell screen made her throat close up and the tears spill over. Her finger hovered over the buttons, needing to find some way to respond but stuck with a limited pallet of words. Before she could make up her mind, another text came in.

 _From_ Contact 1:  
 _Lo siento  
_ (I'm sorry)

Amy couldn't let him think he'd done something wrong. The right phrase came to her, something ambiguous, but that he would hopefully understand.

 _From_ Spanish Hottie:  
 _Nadie sabe lo que vale el agua hasta que falta  
_ (You never know what you have until it's gone)

The reply, when it came, was asking to meet. With shaking fingers, she agreed.

 

* * *

 

It was late, the tungsten orange glow of the streetlights the only reprieve from the darkness. Amy's nerves were high as she lurked under the El. train tracks. Trash and debris littered the pavement. She wanted to add to it, to get out a cigarette and burn it to the filter and leave stub after stub on the ground with all the rest. She couldn't though. The Amy of an hour ago had predicted current Amy's emotional state and took the pack out of her purse. She cursed her foresight. 

"Yo." The syllable was punched out into the night.

Amy turned around. Jake stood a couple feet away, haloed by the streetlight, staring at her blankly. He didn't try to come closer, and Amy wondered if he was expecting her to hit him again. She tried to put him at ease with a smile, but the way it faltered probably did more harm than good.

Uncomfortable silence reigned.

"Did you mean to call me a dick face?" He asked, the tone light but the words vulnerable. Hazily she could recall loudly yelling 'cara de mondá' at him. Jake must've investigated to translate that too.

Amy shifted uneasily. "Not unless you meant to call me a Spanish whore."

"God, no, oh my god." He sputtered. "I had to practice in front of the mirror to say all that without cringing." For some bizarre reason that made her laugh. The image of Jake reciting racist profanity that visibly pained him shouldn't be something so hilarious, but apparently Amy was on the last legs of her sanity.

"Alright, I forgive you." She declared easily as her giggles trailed off. Jake's head bobbed slightly at that, and despite the soft smile on his face his body was still rigid.

"For the bogus racist crap or…" He cleared his throat, and the light atmosphere evaporated. "…Or for forcing you to kiss me."

Without knowing what she might say, Amy shook her head. "Jake, you didn't—"

"No, I totally did." Jake spoke over her, and he seemed angry, but she guessed it was at himself. "Leo decided to give me the worst dating advice in history and just plant one on you until you were into it. I get the feeling not many ladies say no to that guy." He kicked an empty beer can aimlessly, not looking at her, just watching his feet as he scuffed the dirt. "I knew I had to do it, but…"

"I knew why you did it." Amy assured him, but when Jake looked at her her mouth turned dry. He was scrutinizing her like he knew it might've been a lie. She blinked and dropped her gaze.

"Can you, um…" Jake gestured towards her head, then to his neck, making a jerky motion around where her faux bob ended. Amy jolted, having forgotten she'd put it back up.

"You're sure no one followed you this time?" She had to ask.

"Yup," He said bitterly, "Leo and I are besties now that we've bonded over trash talking women." Jake looked at her hair more forlornly now. "I'm really tired of this Not-Santiago character."

Amy couldn't do much besides swallow the lump in her throat and comply. Digging out the pins and undoing the elastic, her hair flowed free over her shoulders. Jake practically sagged with relief, his eyes drinking her in as if this was his first opportunity. She shivered, but didn't look away this time. She was tired of their gazes darting away whenever their feelings got too intense.

"I kissed you back." Amy admitted, feeling as if it was a great secret. Even though he had to have noticed at the time, the way his eyes widened made it seem otherwise. She wrung her hands, nails biting her own skin. "I probably wasn't supposed to, right? That wasn't your plan?"

"I, uh, definitely didn't see it coming." Jake coughed. He looked terribly vulnerable standing like that, his jacket and hoodie unzipped, just a t-shirt standing between her and his heart. "Why, I mean…" He was doing it, he was really going to do it. Amy could see the question in his squared shoulders before Jake could force it out.

Her mouth found itself saying the truth, simple, short, but undeniable. "I wanted to." The words hung in the air between them. Blood was rushing through her ears, and Amy might've swayed where she stood from feeling so faint.

Jake had a peculiar expression on his face, one that said she could've pulled out her gun and shot him twice in the chest and he couldn't have been more shocked. After staring at her, his open mouth pulling in harsher and harsher breaths, he let out grating sigh and closed his eyes. Jake shook his head, and she felt like the distance between them had doubled.

"Amy, I need a favor." He told her, his gaze somewhere around her left ear. The planes of his face looked terse and unhappy. "We're three months in to this op. I'm just starting to get close. I don't know how much longer this is gonna take." Amy hadn't seen Jake this pessimistic before. He often got crabby and defeated, she knew, could remember many times at the station that he'd been cynical. Still, this felt worse.

Jake met her eyes, and she read the desperation in them plain as day. "When this is over, and you and I are back at the Nine-Nine together, and there's no more stupid gangsters or role playing…"

Amy understood then, a flash of revelation. Jake was just as scared as she was, scared that, like this, what they had wasn't real. He didn't want ex-cop turned gang muscle Jake Peralta to romance the Spanish Hottie with her bob and print skirts. He wanted Jake and Amy, Peralta and Santiago, partners in everything. Together, that's the only way they could do this, with clear heads. Their relationship, romantic or not, meant too much.

"Yeah," Amy said, "Okay."

Their gaze held, and they both knew what this meant: no more meetings in public, the ones that, deep down, they had treated like dates. They would work this case as hard as they could, not because they were too afraid to address their feelings, precisely the opposite. There was a light at the end of the tunnel now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized that I had enough material for a romantic conclusion at this point, but not enough for the conclusion of their mission. There's one more chapter coming, with action and returning to the Nine-Nine. Then this story is finished!
> 
> Oh man, and I have a whole slew of headcanons about Amy's real name being America, instead of the favored Amelia. Just ask me about my headcanons and prepare.


	3. Te Tengo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You gotta get my homeboy outta there and back where he belongs."

Combined, Rosa and Gina were masters of the guilt trip, and so Amy found herself at their mercy, a vodka cranberry shoved into her hands as she was manhandled into one of the booths at Shaws’. Rosa eyed her over her beer, while Gina seemed disinterested, swirling her fruity concoction. Amy was nonplussed; why insist on dragging her out if they weren’t going to say anything?

About an hour into the night, her burner cell alerted her to a text. She pulled it out to see Jake was checking in for the night. She appreciated the constant contact, it kept her certain that he was safe and not compromised.

 _From_ Contact 1:  
 _Ligar?  
_ (Hook up?) 

Because of that spectacular blow up, their undercover identities logically couldn’t keep seeing each other. Jake had suggested she get a new burner phone and they devise a new system, but Amy had a solution. She’d drawn up an extensive list of come ons in Spanish, each one referring to whether he was a) compromised or in danger, b) unable to meet at their usual place and time under the bridge that week, or c) just checking in so she knew things were fine. Then she had fun coming up with responses, none of which meant anything in particular, but were fun to offend him with.

 _From_ Spanish Hottie:  
 _Gilún  
_ (Dumbass) 

Narratively, Jake was a guy who couldn’t give up and kept pestering her for sex no matter how many times she insulted him. It worked perfectly.

Satisfied that things were okay, Amy tucked her burner phone back in her pocket and raised her head. She blinked when she saw she was under the scrutiny of both Rosa and Gina.

“What?” Amy asked.

Gina grimaced out an insincere smile. “Hey Amy, come to the bathroom with me.” She demanded, setting her drink down and standing up.

“But I don’t have to go.” Amy protested.

“Yeah, you do.” Rosa said, just a few degrees shy of glaring. “Girl code. Go to the damn bathroom.” Gina was manhandling her out of the booth as she mumbled out an okay.

The ladies room door closed behind them and Amy tugged her arm out of Gina’s vice-like grip. She prepared to loiter by the sink and check her hair, but Gina wasn’t going to the stalls. She was just staring at Amy like she knew some deep dark secret.

Amy shifted uncomfortably. “Uh, don't you have to, you know...”

“You know what’s up with Jake, don’t you?” Gina declared, shocking Amy silent. Anxiety rippled up her spine.

“How... What makes you think that?” She replied, voice flat and incriminating. Gina crossed her arms.

“Well, you’ve suddenly got two phones, your regular smart phone and an old bulky flip. Whenever you get a text from the flip phone you get this little smile at the corners of your mouth.” Amy automatically raised her hand to cover the smile that was no longer there. “You’re a lot slower with your paperwork,” Gina continued, “And Rosa says you've been accepting help on your cases more and more from your secondaries. Plus, whenever Boyle gets all sad and brings everyone down by mentioning Jake and how much he misses him, you rush out of the room.”

“That is all untrue and I find this whole interrogation insulting.” Amy said loudly as she proceeded to turn and try to rush out of the room. As she opened the door, she smacked straight into the leather-clad back of Rosa. The detective looked at Amy over her shoulder with a real honest glare.

“Girl. Code.” She grit out, and Amy quickly shut the door.

“Answer the question, Prissy Prissy Princess.” Gina added tauntingly.

“Fine! Yes, I am.” Amy didn’t want to elaborate, to actually say 'I’m in contact with Jake Peralta, the NYPD detective who was supposed to have quit and cut all ties to his precinct to begin a life of crime.'

“You tell me how he is _right now_ ," said Gina with a fearsome scowl, "Or so help me the brass will be asking why all your paperwork is covered in drawings of dicks.”

“Jake is fine.” Amy told her quickly. “He’s… managing. You know, not being a cop.”

Gina eyed her for a moment before sighing. “He’s undercover, isn't he? That idiot.”

“What, no…” Amy sputtered, knowing she sounded unconvincing. “Why on earth…”

“Please,” Gina said, with a roll of her eyes, “The Jake I knew in middle school only called cops ’pigs’ or ’bacon’ when he got roped into playing robber in Cops and Robbers.” Amy’s shoulders slumped. That did sound like him. "You're part of this though," Gina went on, "Why aren't you helping him come home?"

Amy huffed, sheepish under the accusation and trying not to show it. "Clark won't talk extraction with me yet. He says we don't have enough."

"Well he's a no-dick jerkwad who doesn't care about our Jakey." Gina says, her nasally voice rough with anger. "You've gotta know what the Feds are aiming for, right? If they had their way, Jake would spend years working up to second in command, with his sticky little fingers in every single pie, just to bring down the king rat and send the rest of the mice scuttling away."

Amy couldn't resist quipping, "Sorry, is this analogy about pastries or rodents?"

"I'm Beyonce level serious right now." Gina replied, her gaze sharp and unwavering. "For kicks, I like to go through old invoices, and the joint FBI operations are always in it for the long haul. Usually it's fun to picture myself lounging in a glitzy Trump hotel room paid for with NYPD funds, but it's not a vacation if it's for a whole year." She pinned Amy with a shrewd look. "Jake isn't at Trump tower, is he?"

Amy's mind flashed to the address the FBI provided for him in Bed-Sty, the apartment which she'd never visited but nonetheless knew the layout of like the back of her hand.

"No, not exactly the Ritz." She admitted, watching Gina's expression turn briefly smug.

"You gotta get my homeboy outta there and back where he belongs."

"Believe me," Amy replied, eyes shining, "There's nothing I want more."

 

* * *

 

"I never got why they called this place DUMBO." Jake remarked as they leaned casually against the graffitied brick wall. Amy sipped her coffee, smirking a little around the to-go cup rim. "I always thought it meant something about the elephant, you know, from the Disney movie?" 

She snorted into drink. "Why would you even have heard of this place? Was your playground right under the Manhattan bridge?"

"Brooklyn bridge, actually." He said with a smirk. Amy laughed in earnest and Jake was clearly gratified.

"How're you holding up?" She asked after a moment, diving into the serious matter at hand. "Unusual paranoia? Any nightmares?" Amy knew the symptoms to look for. She'd been studying the effects of undercover work for the last few months, trying to prepare for when the strain might show. At those signs she would have no choice but to recommend ending the mission. So far Jake was surprisingly resilient.

"Just the recurring nightmare of showing up to my bar mitzvah naked, one about this evil marshmallow that tried to suffocate me but it turned out it was only my pillow, and the one where everyone I know is dead." Jake delivered off-hand. She glared at him and he relented, holding up his hands. "Kidding! Mostly. Okay, I made up the thing about my pillow."

"Ha ha." She deadpanned.

"Right, right, sorry," He muttered, holding up his hands placatingly, "No more jokes, all business, gotcha." Jake raised his head, and there was a lightness in his expression that took her by surprise. It took Amy a second to realize that was optimism. "I've got some _huge_ news." He said, drawing out the word in his excitement.

"Fill me in." She demanded, his mood infectious and making her eager.

"You know how Leo wanted that intel on the Nine-Nine?" He waited for Amy to nod. "It turns out he's really into the locations where the NYPD stores the drugs recovered from busts. The Iannucci's are planning a reverse-bust. They're gonna hit one of the Nine-Nine's 'storage warehouses'," Jake held up air quotes, "And steal back the drugs. He's banking on the NYPD not responding immediately out of embarrassment. Sounds like he's familiar with a certain Deputy Commissioner Pedalsky, right? That would be just like him."

"But he's definitely going to hit one of the," Amy mimicked his air quotes, "'storage warehouses' that I gave you?"

"Yup." Jake popped the _p_ happily. "Hope the FBI's art department went all out because that stage is gonna be our featured set."

The reality of what he was hoping for dawned on her, and Amy's smile fell.

"Jake, the FBI doesn't want to shut this down yet. I've been talking to them about it, but they keep refusing until we have enough concrete evidence that will hold up in court." She could see him about to argue, and she stopped him with a raised hand. "They're not gonna go for this, no matter what I say."

Jake blew out his breath. "My gut's telling me we have to move now." He told her, and he couldn't know that that one statement was almost enough to convince her. If there was one trait that she admired in him above herself, it was that Jake had strong intuition and was confident enough to stick with his hunches. Amy's face must not've revealed her weakening resolve, because he continued forcefully, "They're gonna ferry those drugs out of state the very next day. This raid is when we'll have nearly the entire crew in one spot, redhanded, and we can probably turn enough of them to bring down the whole organization."

"That's a lot to hang on a _probably_ , Jake." She insisted, putting in the effort of refuting him.

"Come on, I know these guys, and we're not gonna have this opportunity again. They're gonna go dark and lie low and then it'll be another couple of months that we're waiting for something good." His gaze bore into hers with impassioned determination. "I really, _really_ don't wanna be here until then."

Her chest tightened at his implication. She knew the mission was wearing on him, it was wearing on them both. There was the lingering agreement that they skirted around, that once they were both back at the Nine-Nine, they would explore the possibility of a romantic relationship.

"Let me talk to the Captain," Amy conceded, "I'll see what I can do."

"Hurry," He said, taking a step closer, his expression revealing the slightest hint of worry, "This is going to go down before Friday." She could've said something, something like 'understood' or 'roger that'. She could've left it like that, said goodbye after his grim reminder. She could've asked futilely that he stall the Iannuccis, sparking an argument and leaving them on familiar footing.

But Jake was standing close, and the streetlight threw his face into sharp relief, and the chill wind carried the smell of gun oil and gummy bears towards her. So Amy did the irrational, impractical thing and threw her arms around him. She buried her face in the side of his neck, feeling his Adam's apple bob against her shoulder as he swallowed any protests.

"Stay safe." She mumbled into his skin, his warmth seeping into her.

His hands splayed along her back. "Gracias, mi amiga."

They held each other tight for a long time. It was an indulgence, to embrace each other where someone watching from the shadows might see. Still, it was an indulgence they took.

 

* * *

 

 _From_ Contact 1:  
¿ _Quieres Joder?  
_ (Wanna bone?) 

Amy'd chosen Rosa's favorite euphemism as the signal. She looked up at Captain Holt, his hands clasped around his gun in front of his vest. Holt nodded, and the anticipation seemed to ripple through the assembled squad members.

"On my mark." Amy reminded them all. The rustle of kevlar was the only response. Her heart hammering, she sent the final text.

 _From_ Spanish Hottie:  
 _Cáchate  
_ (Go fuck yourself) 

As soon as the message was sent, she began the countdown aloud. Ten seconds was all the time they'd allowed Jake to extricate himself from the danger. She hoped it would be enough.

Sooner than she'd realized, she'd hit one, and they were moving. Diaz and Boyle were flanking around the warehouse, and Sarge and the Captain were bursting in the front doors. Amy had taken the responsibility of finding Jake and making sure he was okay. As per their arrangement, Jake should've run to the back of the warehouse.

Her gun didn't shake as she found the back door, exactly where the FBI photos had shown it. Turning the handle, she pushed through, her gun swinging around as she assessed the room. Empty. No Jake, but no perps, so it could be worse. It was a small office, with a vacant desk against the wall next to a closed door leading out into the main floor. Shouting and crashing could be heard that way, but no shots, which was a relief. Amy stalked towards the door, preparing to sneak out and get eyes on the situation.

"I think there's a way out here, Leo!" His too-loud whisper carried to her, and Amy knew that had to be his intention. Jake's voice had a barely noticeable tremor. Something had gone wrong and he was working on the fly.

Thinking fast, Amy ducked down and crawled under the desk. It was terrible cover, there were no sides, anyone who looked down would see her in a second. She was banking on the perps being so intent on getting out that they didn't look back. No sooner had she tucked her feet under her did the door spring open.

"See, told you man, we're all clear." Jake sounded even shakier now, maybe more frightened now that he was in the apparently empty room. His sneakers appeared, shuffling with reluctance and dragging on the floor, closely followed by the shiny black boots Amy attributed to Leo Iannucci. They crossed to the exit and fled out of sight. Amy tried her best to unfold herself silently and pursue.

Creeping just inside the doorway, Amy looked out cautiously. The two figures were about halfway to the end of the alley. There wasn't any cover, and not much room to maneuver between the wall of the warehouse and the chain-link fence. The way Jake was walking one pace ahead of Iannucci, Jake's rigid neck, and Iannucci keeping his right elbow tucked into his side made Amy think he was probably armed.

She could chase them, but that just meant more time for Jake to get hurt. Confronting them meant losing the element of surprise, but she'd have Jake on her side. If she took the shot, incapacitate Iannucci quickly, that would solve everything. But at this distance, with Jake so close, her aim would have to be perfect. In that moment, honestly, she trusted Jake to help her more than she trusted her aim.

Amy raised her gun, training it on the back of Leo's head. "NYPD, turn around, hands up!" She demanded in a harsh shout that carried down the alley. Her finger tensed on the trigger as she saw his arm shoot out and snag Jake's sleeve. Iannucci whirled them both around in one deft move and held Jake in front of him. Jake cried out as his arm was twisted up behind his back as Iannucci used him as a human shield.

Jake looked at her bewildered, like he hadn't expected Iannucci to do that. Amy cursed herself internally, wishing she had just taken the shot. All she'd done was make it so she had to stare Jake in the face, to see his anxiety, even as they both struggled to stay calm. Over Jake's shoulder, Iannucci's eyes landed on her and grew round with shock.

"It's you," The crime boss said in a disbelieving whisper, "The firecracker." Amy could see him starting to put the pieces together, and she hoisted her gun a little higher.

"Let him go and put your weapon on the ground." She said, hoping to distract him.

"Leo, you better listen to her," Jake added, "She'd got a mean arm, believe me, you don't wanna be on her bad side."

"Oh no," Iannucci snarled, turning his gun to press against Jake's jaw, and Amy nearly lost her restraint on the trigger, "Don't play like you didn't know she was a cop! This has got your Peralta stink all over it."

"Okay, okay, okay," Jake blurted out, his adam's apple jumping as he craned his neck away from the gun that always followed, "You're right. This has been over for a while, there's nothing you can do now."

"My partners are emptying the building as we speak." Amy broke in, following Jake's lead. "They'll be moving into position to surround you. You've got nowhere to run." Contrary to her words, the crime lord took a couple steps back, forcing Jake to shakily mimic his motions.

"Yeah bitch, but I've got a hostage now." Leo said, turning to add sardonically in Jake's ear, "One _ex_ -ex-cop, isn't that right, Jakey?" He yanked on the arm he still held, nearly sending Jake toppling over as his body contorted unnaturally.

"You think they won't shoot just 'cause you've got me?" Jake replied a touch more desperately. "You said it, Leo, 'brothers in blue' is a joke. Loyalty in thieves, remember?" His eyes kept flitting between the gun held to his jugular and Amy, and she thought she got what he was trying to get across.

"I said I would be the one to get you, Iannucci, and I will." Amy declared, letting some of that ruthless Santiago competitive streak shake her voice. Her hands clasped the gun more eagerly as she advanced, reducing the distance Leo kept putting between them. She hoped her face was a mask of bloodthirsty venom as she uttered what ought to be her damning line, "Even if I have to shoot through Peralta to do it."

There was a chilling moment where she wasn't sure he was gonna take the bait. Her gun was trained right where Leo's heart should be, but all Amy could see was Jake's shoulder, his leather jacket that she had laid her cheek on not one week ago. Her finger was too tight, too close to doing what she dreaded but she didn't dare move. In her mind she heard the bang, saw the blood fly, watched the flesh be torn through, only for the sound to repeat and send the visions cycling back.

Leo Iannucci, the notorious crime boss, looked between his once supposedly loyal muscle, and the girl he'd belittled and objectified without suspicion. He raised his arm with the same unsuspecting stupidity. The barrel of the gun left Jake's skin and started it's change of direction, but never completed its arc of pointing at Amy.

All in all, it was over in the blink of an eye. Amy watched it happen as if in slow motion, because she knew Jake's motions like she knew her police codes. His foot hooked back and swept Leo's leg out with him. Unbalanced, Leo began to tip backwards, his grip on Jake's arm weakening. Though she could not see it, Amy knew Jake was jamming his elbow back into Leo's solar plexus. With his free hand, Jake grabbed for the gun, and, thoroughly discombobulated, the fingers around the grip went slack. Landing his foot back on the ground, Jake spun around with the gun clasped in both hands just in time to see Leo crash to the ground.

Her breath came in harsh bursts, the adrenaline still pulsing under her skin as she rushed forward. Her gun was holstered and her cuffs were out without thinking about it. Amy pushed Leo, still dazed and immobile, onto his stomach as she restrained him. Jake's steady presence above her, keeping her covered, was more calming than anything. This was natural.

"Nice one, detective." Amy said, her voice sure and strong. She hadn't even really thought about the word choice, but when Jake looked at her with exuberant warmth, Amy realized just what he'd been missing. She stood, hoisting Iannucci with her. "Come on," She said with a gratified smirk, "The squad's waiting for us."

 

* * *

 

"The FBI is not happy." The Captain told her as she sat in his office, the procedural elements of her debriefing already concluded. "As you CO it is my duty and my pleasure to bear the brunt of their complaints." Amy winced, but Holt did seem unruffled by whatever the FBI was throwing at him. "I hope you had no aspirations of going federal after becoming Captain." 

"It was worth it." She said, meaning it wholly.

"You and Peralta did admirably." Holt told her, and Amy did her best not to preen. "I trust I'll be seeing more from your partnership of this caliber."

That seemed to be a loaded question. His eyebrows were raised and the corner of his mouth was pulled up slightly. This was enigmatic fatherly expression #2. Amy wasn't sure what he was getting at for a moment, then she blushed. It took her a minute to decide on a response.

"Yes, I think Peralta and I… Jake…" She stared back at him, sticking through her answer. "It's only up from here, sir."

He nodded. "I'm glad to hear it detective."

He was _not_ mentoring her, Amy reminded herself. He was not the Jack Donaghy to her Liz Lemon. Still, she couldn't deny this felt good.

"Does this mean everything's okay with Peralta's status?" Amy asked, professionally restraining the hope in her voice. "He can come back to work?"

Holt leaned back, "Under the circumstances, with the FBI reluctantly confirming Peralta's place in their Op, and in light of evidence of Deputy Commissioner Pedalsky accepting expensive gifts from the now dubious Lucas Wint," Amy suspected the Captain had a hand in unearthing that evidence, "I am fully prepared to push for Peralta's reinstatement to the Nine-Nine."

"Thank you, sir." Amy knew her grin was wide and toothy, probably with full on gum action, as she rose to leave.

"I have to say, I reviewed your reports." She turned to see that the Captain had stood with her. Unsure what to expect, and fearing she'd accidentally slipped in hints of their impropriety, Amy schooled her expression quickly. "I am impressed with your ingenuity." While the Captain hadn't seemed displeased, he was practically beaming at her now, and Amy relaxed. "I'm curious, what made you think of idioms as code?"

She cleared her throat, glad to have someone to tell this to. "My grandfather, sir. He had a unique way of imparting wisdom, but you always knew what he was saying." Amy conceded with a tilt of her head, adding, "Eventually." The Captain hummed his acknowledgement, and even maybe some amusement, and Amy knew she was free to go. Feeling freer than she had walking in, she pushed through his door out into the squad room, pausing beside Gina's empty desk.

Despite his dislike of cliches, the Captain and her grandfather were quite similar. Amy liked to think she was close enough now to Raymond Holt that they were capable of having implicit understandings. She thought perhaps he knew what she was planning, and that he approved enough not to talk her out of it. If she was wrong, well, she'd abide by a cliche: easier to ask forgiveness than permission.

He was in the center of the room, his hip propped against their desks as if from muscle memory. Surrounded by Rosa, Charles, Gina, the Sargent, and Hitchcock and Scully, Jake chatted away with a bright grin overtaking his face. The squad seemed to drink in his presence, leaning closer like moths to a brilliant blinding light. Something he was saying made him laugh, and Amy held her breath as the lines around his eyes creased.

She was moving before she was aware of it, striding towards him. Jake noticed her approach, and his eyes were wide as he guessed her intent. Paying no mind to their friends as she walked past, Amy reached his side and guided his lips to hers with a gentle hand on his freshly shaved cheek. It was soft, tender, and Amy drew one deep breath, taking in the familiar scent of him. His warmth, his lips, his breath, it was all the same as she remembered and yet completely different. This is what they'd wanted, what they'd deserved. This was Jake and Amy, one bet, one boyfriend, and one big freaking bust later, together through it all.

The whole squad was staring at them as they broke the kiss. Jake took her hand, igniting a fierce blush beneath her cheeks. He looked serenely at the slack shocked faces of their friends.

"En bocas cerradas, no entran moscas." Jake recited in perfect spanish, smug as he drew Amy away. She followed his lead, an uncontrollable bubbling giddiness in her heart.

Behind them she heard Rosa translate, "Shut your mouths or bugs'll get in. Since when does Peralta know Spanish?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! So sorry it took a month to finish this, that's my bad. At least the big romantic moment already happened in chapter 2, hopefully this was a nice little wrap up.
> 
> I borrowed the bit about Amy's grandfather from the spec script of B99's pilot episode, the one they sent to the network. It fit surprisingly well with what I had already. Just ask if you're interested in more of the details about this work, like why I thought of things. I'm bursting with urge to tell people my convoluted thought processes but not egotistical enough to put them all in author's notes....
> 
> If you enjoyed this fic to tide us through the hiatus, let me know, please. I hang on your every word as I can only hope you hang on mine.


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